


tender condemnation

by meowrails



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Brief Violence, Gods, Internal Monologue, Introspection, M/M, Nihilism, Reincarnation, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/pseuds/meowrails
Summary: A long time ago, John almost had the entirety of existence at his fingertips. Now all he has left are moments like these.





	tender condemnation

**Author's Note:**

> fair warning, this is pretty... depressing. it is all from john's point of view, so that's to be expected, but i tried to really dig into the nihilism here. 
> 
> apologies for any plot stuff i may have gotten wrong, im re-listening to taz right now but i haven't reached john's part yet. but hey, this is basically a fix-it fic, so i can do whatever i want.
> 
> this is my first taz fic so please leave a comment if you liked it! i really love this ship and will probably write more.
> 
> warning for a brief bout of violence and mentions of blood.

John still isn’t sure why he was brought back.

He’s certain of two things:

  1. When he died, John expected nothing. Not hell, not heaven, not even the astral plane. He did not expect to be reincarnated into absolutely anything. He believe the continuation of life its everlasting cycle was a lie created by those who desperately needed hope. Hope, ultimately, is as useless as a prayer. There are many things stronger than hope: despair, void, fire, hunger, and some sharks. He had made peace with not existing anymore. John didn’t want to die, he simply did not want to live. He wanted to become absolutely nothing and only _that_ would rid him of the pain of existence. He was close too it too. When he felt himself and the hunger become nothing, then felt the tide against his feet in a beach that possibly wasn’t real, John disappeared into the sunlight. John believe he had reached absolution. Until a huge divine being with a porcelain face, a soft voice and a body made of feathers told him that he wasn’t fit for the plane of souls as he had none. Then a woman with dark skin and glowing eyes that knitted and endless scarf told him the fate that had been ended was not his own. That there was no punishment for his crimes that Asmodeous could fulfill. The only fate fitting enough for John was to live again, as everyone else in history has been forced to. From nothing, John was forced to become something once more.
  2. He was in water. Salt water that seeped into his expensive suit and filled his lungs. His body was a body again and it was being drifted into shore as he coughed and vomited onto the sand, gasping for air. Gasping for the first breath he’d been forced to take in a very, very, very long time.



John clears his throat and almost throws up again, struggling to stand to his feet. Before checking his surroundings, his body or anything else, John limps to drier land and closes his eyes, focusing on any sound he had the liberty of listening to. If the Hunger is still with him he will hear it. Absolute and deafening, millions of voices whispering at him all at once in a chaotic symbiosis, no-longer a man but a multitude of beings and ideas. But now he was a man again, thrusted into a plane of existence he did not fully comprehend. The only sound he could hear were the waves crashing into the shore.

He sighs. What else can he do? Check that he’s still human? John drags his hands across his face -- his hair feels exactly as he left it, no eyes or eldritch tendrils growing from his skin, only light stubble and wrinkles formed from stress and age -- two things he thought he would transcend. He laughs. (What else can he do?) If anything, he has to give it to the gods as they are nothing if not creative. Condemned to live his last days in a world he hates. He worked so hard to transcend life and death and yet he will die an old man, covered in seawater and sand in a beach he cannot help be recognize. There’s something about it that seems awfully familiar, especially with the way the light seems to touch the horizon and reflect against the sea.

The sea is the closest thing he now has to a terrifying void. Part of him is tempted to walk back in and allow it to take his body away. He would much rather feel the heavy silence of the deepest trenches of the ocean than have to face the earth and its inhabitants. But that would be too easy. There are gods in the ocean, there are gods in the earth and the palm trees around him, there are gods inside the very thoughts he thinks that fall to the sand he rests on. They would most likely bring him back to this stagnant, boring existence over and over again until he dies like he was intended to. Hell is other people, after all.

He tries to use that to distract himself from the house just behind him not ten steps away. He tries not to think about who it could belong to. John, being John, infers that it is the home of a being from a plane he devoured. Or perhaps his old home and life repurposed into some sort of mockery of everything he held dear. Maybe he’s in a plane he has never encountered in the first place and he’s all alone. He will die by the shore alone, no matter how much magic and bargains and bonds he may make, death is death and rot is rot.

But that would still be too easy. If the gods wanted to punish him properly they could only send him to one person. The one person in the entire planar system that could make him reconsider his words and want him to be good. No, not good -- John is above goodness. Everything he loved he would have devoured and Merle almost made him feel full. 

There is no place he would rather be and that terrifies him.

His legs stand on their own volition and he takes a step, one out of nine, and he wishes a god would kill him instead.

John continues to walk. He realizes then and there that he has not walked in a long time. The last time he used his body he used it for a battle he knew he would lose.

If this is his life now, he will bend over for the god’s will and live out the rest of his shitty life, a mockery of what he wanted to become. In another life, he would have eaten the light behind him that was starting to disappear into the horizon. In another life he would have made those gods cry.

In his current life, John stands in front of a wooden door. He will embrace the inevitable.

He knocks once. Twice. Three times until he hears footsteps grow closer. In his past life, John did not get nervous, he had the strength of billions of lives that prevented those feelings. This John lets out a shaky breath as the door creaks open.

Merle looked up at him, eyes wide in an expression he can't discern between shock or fury. And he looked exactly as he did in his parleys: unkempt, uncaring, and absolutely lovely. John felt the ache of a hundred daggers or one very big sword digging into his chest (a sensation he’s familiar with) and dropped to his knees, almost at eye level.

“John...” The cleric says. He hears the man say his name again and again, each time different than the last.

He coughs out before he can speak again, seawater still stinging at his throat. When he does speak, his voice is hoarse and used, as if he’s been screaming for a very long time. “Merle, I--”

He’s cut off by a wooden fist to his cheekbone, knocking him down to the floor. He feels an dull ache in the side of his face that will most certainly form a bruise. He spits out and is partly relieved that he sees red instead of black.

It’s his turn to look up this time but he sees nothing except a wooden door because Merle has embraced him. Strong arms holding him by his shoulder and his waist. John doesn’t move or react other than resting his his tired body against Merle’s shoulder.

A long time ago, John almost had the entirety of existence at his fingertips. Now all he has left are moments like these.

“That’s for killing me sixty-seven times, you dick.” Merle says with a laugh. _A laugh_. All those parleys spent together over the years were worth nothing if John still can’t understand this man. “It’s good to see you again.”

John can’t muster any words that would be remotely useful. He closes his eyes and breathes in the warmth of Merle’s skin, trembling hands finding their way to pull the man closer. Love finds its way inside of him like the cruelest punishment of all.

He hopes it lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> Held you in my arms for the first time that day  
> Felt like God's anointed when you didn't push me away  
> \- Age of Kings, The Mountain Goats


End file.
